Teach Me A Lesson
by MonochromaticSongbird
Summary: Teacher!Kurt meets Badboy!Blaine, and lots of dirty sex happens. Basically. This is essentially 1 part plot and 2 parts porn. Don't say I didn't warn you..


**IJASFOIAHGH THINGS I NEED TO STOP DOING – CHOPPING AND CHANGING BETWEEN MY FICS AND ACTUALLY FINISH ONE.**

**Regardless, here's some Teacher!Kurt vs. Badboy!Blaine. I figure it's an awesome mix of two of the hottest kinks to emerge from the summer hiatus, and I hope I did it justice. There's probably fuckloads of typos in it though..**

**WARNINGS: SMUT. LOTS OF SMUT. DIRTY DIRTY SMUT. SWEARING, YOU NAME IT. ALSO MAYBE ISSUES DUE TO TEACHERNESS/STUDENTNESS. Blaine is eighteen and Kurt is twenty-five. DON'T READ IF YOU'RE NOT INTO THAT.**

**Also, bonus desk!sex. Which is cool.**

**I don't own them blah blah blah.**

**(If I did, Glee would totally be doing this. Every. Fucking. Week.)**

**& I apologise for the ridiculously clichéd fic name. I honestly don't know what I was thinking.**

* * *

><p>If you had asked eighteen year old, fresh out of high school Kurt Hummel what he thought he would be doing in five years, his answer would probably have included a glare and a disparaging comment about <em>Broadway, of course.<em>

Because that was eighteen year old Kurt Hummel's _dream_.

But then there was college and New York and real life hit, and even Rachel Berry was getting turned down at auditions because apparently there were _others _out there. Other teenagers with voices and dreams and Patti LuPone on constant repeat, and it felt like a punch in the gut to Kurt, who had wished and wished to meet someone like him all through his school years.

But now he was up against boys and girls and dreamers just like himself; identical in some respects, and he was learning the hard way that sometimes dreams don't just _happen_ because you want them to.

He lived with Rachel in a two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, and it was tiny and cramped and there was that questionable patch of mould on the ceiling and the leak in the kitchen but it was _home_.

It was home despite the fact that one could walk the length of the entire apartment in twelve paces, and they lived off takeaways and cheap coffee, and Kurt spent his twenty-third birthday curled on the couch with hot chocolate and blueberry pop tarts, and Rachel and _Singin' in the Rain._

Rachel served all-day breakfast and coffee to harried New Yorkers by day, and stormed through auditions by night, while Kurt made two calls to his old college professors and one to Mr Shue back in Ohio, handed in three applications and ended up here.

Two glowing recommendations from past teachers, a degree in musical theatre, and a case-full of old performance tapes and he was landed with a job teaching four mornings a week at the community theatre.

Okay, so it was teaching. That was the first problem.

But it was teaching at a _theatre. _Teaching musical theory to kids just a few years younger than him, and he was going to be singing and acting and helping younger versions of himself realise their _dream__._

It was a start at least.

Rachel pressed a sleepy kiss to his cheek and a flask of hot coffee into his hand while simultaneously pushing him out of the door and into the hall with a cry of "Knock them dead!" on the morning of his first day, and Kurt spent the subway ride tugging at his bowtie and smoothing his shirt but he was not nervous, because Kurt Hummel did_ not_ get nervous.

He was not nervous as he swallowed the dregs of his lukewarm coffee and clutched the strap of his bag as the gum-chewing blonde who met him at the door directed him through the theatre to the rooms at the back.

He was definitely not nervous as he affixed the _Kurt Hummel: Music Theory_ sign to his door, spread his class plans out on his desk and read through them three times, even though he knew them by heart.

And when the clocks hands ticked past ten thirty, and the bell rang and the room was suddenly filled with hoards of chattering teenagers, Kurt most certainly did not have to grip the edge of his desk tightly to stop his fingers trembling.

But when the students fell into their seats and into silence, and looked at him expectantly, Kurt suddenly wasn't worried in the slightest.

"Good morning," he said, standing and unable to prevent a smile stretching across his face, "I'm Kurt Hummel, and I'll be your Musical Theory teacher this year."

There was a murmur of greeting in reply, and they were smiling at him, or at least paying attention and maybe they actually wanted to _learn from _and_ listen_ to him, and maybe this wasn't going to be so hard after all.

"We will have three theoretical lessons and one practical a week, I will be setting you both written and composition tasks, and I expect punctuality and deadlines to be met without fail, unless you can give me an exceedingly convincing reason why not, understand?"

There was another murmur of consent, a few chuckles and a few students actually looked excited.

"Then I think we will get along swimmingly," Kurt said, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms. "I thought we would start with something practical, something to really show me what you're all capable of in the musical sense, so if you want to –"

The crash of the classroom door banging open cut him off short, and the excited buzz dropped to silence as a figure marched into the room.

Kurt caught a glimpse of dark curly hair and a leather jacket as the boy stalked to the back of the room, swung himself into a chair and propped his feet up on the desk, head falling backwards.

There was silence.

"Excuse me?"

The boy didn't even move, nor acknowledge Kurt's presence.

Kurt bit his lip slightly, flushing as a few students looked at him questioningly.

_Come on Hummel, you're the teacher. You're in charge here._

Trying to look a lot more confident than he felt, Kurt crossed the room in three strides, coming to a halt in front of the boy's desk and clearing his throat loudly.

The boy looked up and _oh._

His eyes were dark and stared straight into Kurt's without a care in the world and his lips twisted upwards in an arrogant smirk.

"Yes?" he said, with no hint of irony and just the faintest touch of irritation, as though Kurt had annoyed him in some way.

"And who, may I ask, are you exactly?"

"That depends who's asking," the boy ran his eyes up and down Kurt slowly, excruciatingly and Kurt felt his pulse jump slightly.

"My name," he leaned forwards, placing both palms on the desk and willing his heart rate to slow down as the boy's eyes met his, unfaltering, "Is Kurt Hummel. I am your _teacher_."

"Huh." The boy crossed his legs at the ankles on the desk, and stretched his arms behind his head and was it even possible to look _that good_ in a leather jacket? He rocked backwards on the back legs of his chair.

"Blaine Anderson," he said finally, when it became clear that Kurt wasn't planning on letting the situation go.

"Well Mr Anderson, do you make a habit of turning up to class late?"

Blaine shrugged, "I guess so. Yeah."

"Well next time, could you_ not?"_

Blaine had the audacity to grin, pulling his legs from the table and letting his chair fall back to the ground with a thud as he leant across the desk.

"Somehow," he said, his eyes cutting into Kurt's, "I _doubt it."_

Someone gasped behind him, and Kurt was reminded that yes, there was a class in the room. There was a class and he was a teacher, and for fuck's sake he needed to exercise some sort of power here. He would rather burn his McQueen collection than let some cocky teenager walk all over him half an hour into his first day.

Kurt forced an icy smile onto his face, and spoke very slowly, "Mr Anderson. Would you be so kind as to leave my classroom and not return for the rest of the day?" Each word stabbed into the palpable silence and Blaine's smirk fell into a scowl.

Kurt turned away and walked back to his desk, heard Blaine scoff behind him and that was the last straw because dammit, Kurt wanted his first day to go well.

"_Now."_

He was pointing towards the door with one hand, the other on his hip in his trademark pose that he hadn't had to use since high school, but right now Kurt's eighteen year old diva was surfacing and he would be damned if he was going to let some curly haired boy ignore a direct command.

Blaine rolled his eyes and stood up, crossed the room and left with a hiss of "_Whatever_."

At least he closed the door this time, Kurt mused before turning back to the class.

Some were looking at him with vague hints of approval, some looked shocked and others were just amused, but they waited for him to continue without talking and Kurt fell back into the autopilot of his planned lesson.

And he honestly didn't think about Blaine Anderson for the rest of the day.

* * *

><p>"I hear you've got Anderson," a curly haired male said, passing Kurt a cup of coffee in the staff canteen the next morning. He guided Kurt towards a half-full table, introduced himself as Jesse, the others as Mike, Noah and Wes, and pushed Kurt into a seat.<p>

"Yes. You know him?"

Mike laughed, "Everyone knows him. He's like, notorious around here."

"Although, not in a 70's mobster movie type way," Wes interjected, as though this would ease Kurt's mind.

"He dropped out of school at sixteen," Mike continued, "started here and, honestly, he's one of the most talented kids we've ever had."

Jesse nodded, "I hate to say it, but it's true. He was Melchior in Spring Awakening last year and it was without a doubt the best performance we've ever done."

The others nodded, "Even Puckerman was in tears," Mike said, dodging when Noah elbowed him hard.

"Sold out every night, raging reviews and he's been one of the most sought after young actors in the area ever since." Jesse continued with a shrug.

"So…why is he still here?"

"Because, in case you hadn't noticed, he's awful," Wes said, "Agents seek him out, companies want him to audition but ten minutes in they realise how much of a…well…"

"Arrogant prick, I think is the term most often used," Noah said with a grin.

"Well that's certainly a comfort," Kurt said dryly, swirling his half-empty coffee cup around dismally.

Noah clapped him on the shoulder, "Hey dude it's alright."

"He probably even won't show up for class," Jesse agreed.

"And if he does…just, you know, show him who's boss," Wes added, helpfully.

* * *

><p>It was surprisingly easy to fall into the routine of teaching, and it didn't take Kurt long to realise exactly why people chose to do this as a long term profession.<p>

His students were bright and funny, they listened attentively and responded accordingly as he wowed them with stories of performances and school life. They even paid attention as he dragged them through unforgiving hours of theoretical literature; essays and composers and background knowledge that even _Kurt _found dull.

But he would make it up to the class every Thursday when he would set them a task reminiscent of McKinley's Glee club days; splitting them into partners or groups and set them musical tasks or challenges to perform.

Blaine Anderson turned up maybe once or twice a week, but at least he wasn't late. Annoyingly all of his assignments gained the highest marks in the class, and Kurt wasn't even ashamed of the extra harsh attitude he employed when marking them, because it didn't seem to matter. The boy was articulate and insufferably clever, and somehow managed to regurgitate everything Kurt was teaching without attending most of the lessons.

And when he did attend he was intolerable to say the least.

Blaine would swagger through the door, wink at the giggling Rachel Berry-esque divas who crowded the front rows, drop into a seat at the back of the class and spend the entirety of the class doing something that pointedly wasn't Kurt's set work.

In fact he barely paid any attention to his teacher at all; grunting when Kurt called his name, texting throughout the lesson, ignoring questions.

Kurt lived for the days that Blaine didn't turn up, but every time Blaine's seat at the back was empty Kurt was…disappointed?

Maybe he hoped that he could be the one to knock some sense into the boy, to reform the rebel so to speak. It definitely didn't have anything to do with the fact that Blaine was just about the only male Kurt had ever seen pull off a leather jacket so well. Or the way his t-shirts would pull taught over his chest and arms when he stretched.

Because Blaine was eighteen and Kurt was twenty-five and his _teacher,_ and Blaine was obnoxious and unendurable and every _single thing_ he did grated on Kurt's nerves.

Kurt just needed to get laid. And Blaine had pretty eyes, when they weren't glaring. That was all.

* * *

><p>Kurt overslept one morning in November, and was awakened only by Rachel screaming her way through <em>La Vie Boheme <em>in their shared shower – something he normally missed due to his early start caused by her tendency to hog the bathroom.

"Rachel! Rachel, why the hell didn't you wake me?" He yelled, pounding on the door hard enough for it to rattle on its hinges.

She screamed and he heard a thud and a worrying pause before she replied, "Kurt? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me you moron! Who else would it be?"

"Why aren't you at work?"

"THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'M TRYING TO WORK OUT RIGHT NOW!" He bellowed, giving up and knowing that no force in the world would be able to drag Rachel Berry from the bathroom before she was finished.

His hair was unsalvageable, lying flat on one side and falling continuously into his eyes on the other. He'd given up his morning coffee in the hopes of still catching the subway, arrived thirty seconds too late and had to run all the way to the theatre, stumbling into the parking lot just in time for his bag to split and spill papers and books all over the ground.

Kurt pressed his fingers to his temples, praying hard that he would open his eyes and be back in bed. Or dead. Or anywhere that wasn't an hour late with a broken bag, no caffeine and his work all over the tarmac.

The roar of an engine drawing up close to him forced him to open his eyes, and he immediately regretted it.

Blaine Anderson was straddling a motorcycle ten feet from him, pulling a helmet from his head and shaking out his stupidly attractive curls.

Kurt tried not to look at the way Anderson's thighs clenched around the seat, the way his fingers gripped the handlebars almost lovingly, and _fuck._

He busied himself with gathering up his work, hanging his now useless bag over his shoulder and hoisting six books under his arm.

"Looks like someone's having a bad morning."

"Anderson I am really not in the mood right now."

Kurt turned to find the boy closer than expected, less than a foot from him and slowly from the ground up to meet Kurt's eyes.

"Tetchy," he said, his voice an octave lower than usual.

"If you are not going to help me then I would suggest you go to class. My class in particular, and wait for me to arrive," Kurt forced out through clenched teeth.

"Right you are, sir," Blaine said with a salute and a _wink, _and vanished into the building. Kurt groaned and let himself drop to the floor. Could his day get _any _worse?

* * *

><p>Apparently it could.<p>

Fortunately his class found it thoroughly amusing when he arrived _after _Anderson, and split off into their working groups, giving Kurt time to get himself together.

Until Kurt noticed Blaine leaning against his desk at the back, tapping away furiously on his phone, and Kurt realised this was the first practical lesson Anderson had actually attended. And judging by the looks of it, he wasn't planning on doing anything more than actually being there.

"Mr Anderson, are you planning on actually taking part in the practical today?"

He looked up, blinked as though shocked Kurt was actually addressing him, "Um. Not really, no."

"I honestly wasn't asking you Mr Anderson, so if you would please join a group and take part in the lesson, I would strongly appreciate it."

Anderson's eyes met Kurt's, challenging, and shrugged.

"Sorry Hummel. I'm not really feeling it today."

Kurt had had enough.

"Mr Anderson!" It came out as more of a shout than he'd intended, and Kurt found himself being pushed to his feet by his palms flat on the desk. His chair fell backwards with a clatter.

The class fell silent, the groups looking shocked; Kurt had _never_ shouted like this before.

Blaine looked almost abashed for the flicker of a second as the class turned to stare at him, but he was gone and then he was smirking that stupid smirk again.

"Yes?" He drew the word out casually and Kurt wanted to punch him or…or…

_No. Bad Kurt. Bad, __**bad **__Kurt!_

"See me after class," Kurt choked out through gritted teeth.

Blaine grinned.

"Gladly, _sir."_

The second half of the class passed far too quickly for Kurt's liking, and even though he avoided even looking in Anderson's direction he could feel his eyes searing into him with every movement.

And then the clock was ticking over past the two o'clock mark, and Kurt could feel his blood thrumming in his veins and he barely heard the farewells of the students as the pressed towards the door.

Blaine appeared to be taking his time and Kurt shifted papers from one pile to another, capping and uncapping his pens and trying not to listen to the grating scrape of a chair across the floor, to the thudding of feet in the silent room.

A shadow fell across where Kurt was attempting to align his books with the edge of his desk. He counted to three slowly, took a deep breath and looked up.

Blaine had one hand on his hip, one eyebrow raised and that infuriatingly smug smile on his face.

"What?"

Kurt glared, wishing not for the first time that he could actually strike people dead with his bitch-stares.

Blaine rolled his eyes and Kurt felt the vein next to his eye twitch slightly.

"What_, sir?"_

"Mr Anderson if you are going to bother to turn up to my lessons I would strongly appreciate it if you bothered the honour the classroom rules whilst doing so."

Blaine just looked at him, his lips quirking upwards slightly as though he found the whole situation vaguely amusing.

Kurt took a deep breath, and stood slowly and moved his way around the desk until they were face to face. His brain rejoiced slightly as Blaine seemed to consider the few inches of height difference between them.

"Maybe I should put that in terms you are more likely to understand, Mr Anderson. While I am teaching I would appreciate it if _you shut up and paid attention!"_

Both of Blaine's eyebrows had raised to his hairline, and there was a heated pause as they looked at each other.

"Anything else?" Blaine said finally, his voice heavy with boredom and Kurt felt his last resolve snap. His hands were shaking so hard he gripped the edge of the table behind him to steady himself, breathing deeply.

Blaine turned to go, but Kurt's voice was ripping itself from his throat before he could stop it.

"No! That is not all, Mr Anderson. I would appreciate it if you paid me a little respect, I am after all your teacher."

"Yeah, and you look about twelve," Blaine muttered petulantly, turning back to face him. Kurt's back snapped ramrod straight and his eyes narrowed to slits, and he was _seething._

"I am twenty-three years old and I earned this position. Your devil-may-care attitude might sit fine with the other members of staff, but it will not fly with me. If you break my rules again I will have you removed from my class before you can blink!"

Kurt's voice was hoarse when his words faded and his mind was blank except for a tirade of _oh god oh god, I just screamed at a student. Oh fuck fuck fuck! Kurt calm down, calm down! _

And then Kurt was forced backwards and there was a desk edge digging itself into his ass and Blaine, _oh god _Blaine was kissing him, and to his horror Kurt found himself kissing back.

Blaine kissed with too much teeth and tongue and it was wet and messy, and just a little bit desperate, but Kurt was moaning brokenly into Blaine's throat before he could stop himself, because _fuck_, it had been so long. Blaine was licking and grinning against his teeth, and Kurt tried to pull back but Blaine's hand was in his hair and forcing their heads together and Kurt would be damned if he resisted even the slightest bit.

When Kurt's head was spinning and he really needed to breath he pulled his mouth away, but any words he tried to form were lost as Blaine dragged his mouth wetly down his jaw, in a stripe across his throat and when had his tie disappeared, how had Blaine managed to undo his shirt without Kurt realising?

He didn't care, because his hands were scraping up Blain's back hard enough to break the skin and Blaine groaned into the skin of his throat. Kurt's hands scrambled at his shoulder, pushing the stupid leather jacket off and onto the floor, and then Blaine raised his arms and his t-shirt was gone too, and _fuck, fuck, fuck_ his skin was so hot against Kurt's chest.

Blaine kissed his way down Kurt's chest, his fingers brushing along the skin of his hips, and Kurt's hands hovered around his shoulders he tried to work out if it was polite to push him down or to hold him in place, but right now Kurt's brain didn't seem to want to form coherent thought.

His head rolled backwards as Blaine's tongue licked swirls into his hipbone and he was gasping wetly and Blaine's cheek was pressed against the bulge in his slacks and his hot breath fanned across the trail he had painted across Kurt's hips. Kurt was lying crookedly across the desk, his eyes unfocused as he stared at the ceiling, the top of Blaine's head, the door…

"_Shit!"_

"Mmm," Blaine said, muffled into the fabric of Kurt's pants as his fingers fumbled at his belt and zipper.

"No, Blaine, _the door!"_

Kurt felt him freeze, move back slightly and it was enough to clear Kurt's head just for a second. He scrambled from the table, tripping over his pants around his ankles as he stumbled to the door, left wide open to the, _thank fuck, thank __**fucking fuck**_, empty corridor.

Kurt pressed it closed, clicking the lock and took a deep breath, his head falling with a thud against the wood.

"Blaine…" Kurt turned with a sigh. He didn't know what to say, but he was mostly naked and…

Blaine had pulled himself onto Kurt's desk, leaning back on his arms in just his boxers. Kurt had never found chest hair sexy before now, but there was something tantalising about the dark trail that led into his waistband and Kurt wanted to lick his way down it and…

"I want you to fuck me."

Well that stopped Kurt short.

"I…you…_what?"_

Blaine smirked again, managing to look ridiculously cocksure while reclining mostly naked on his _teacher's_ desk.

_Teacher, teacher, __**student, STUDENT!**_

"I want you to fuck me, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt didn't remember moving forwards, just that his hands were on Blaine's warm thighs and his heart was stuttering painfully oh god, did the world really decide to hate on him today?

"Blaine, I am your _teacher!"_

"Fuck, Kurt, can't your obligatory moral breakdown wait until after you've fucked me over your desk until I can't walk straight?"

Kurt's moan caught in his throat and his forehead touched Blaine's.

"Please, Kurt," Blaine nipped at his bottom lip between each word, "Please. Fuck, don't make me beg."

His hand snaked between them, cupping between Kurt's legs and squeezing gently, his lips pressed against Kurt's but still whispering.

"Come on Kurt, you know you want to. You want to fuck me until I scream, until you can't look at the desk without remembering how good I made you feel."

_Oh fuck it._

"I am so going to hell," Kurt gasped out, throwing Blaine backwards before he could respond, so he was flat on his back and Kurt heard the thud and clatter of his perfectly straight class papers flutter to the floor, but the Blaine was bucking his hips between them, his nails digging into Kurt's ass to rock their erections together.

"Do you have…?" Kurt panted out between collisions of lips and teeth, and felt Blaine nod beneath him.

"Jacket. Floor."

Kurt rolled to his side, one hand groping along the floor and the other clenched in the small of Blaine's back, holding them together as he rutted desperately against him. His fingers brushed leather and scrambled frantically through the pockets. Blaine was licking up under his ear and Kurt shivered against him.

"It's really hard to…while…you're…"

"So shut up, and concentrate on _finding_, rather than _talking_," Blaine breathed, but his voice cracked as he said it, and there was an edge of need to his tone.

Finally, _finally,_ Kurt's fingers closed around a bottle and a square packet.

"Do I want to know how long you've been carrying these?" He said, kicking his boxers off and helping Blaine shimmy out of his.

Blaine at least had the decency to blush faintly, while lying bare-assed on his teacher's desk.

"Since your first lesson with us," he admitted, looking down, "I…um. I thought you were really hot, you know, for a teacher. So I thought that if I riled you up enough then you…might…"

"Fuck you over my desk?"

Blaine grinned, "Something like that?"

Kurt looked at him for a moment, and in a gesture more tender than in intended, pressed a kiss to Blaine's forehead.

"_Turn over,"_ he said against his skin, without drawing away.

Blaine rolled onto his front, and Kurt crawled until his was positioned between his spread legs. He uncapped the lube and warmed a generous amount in his hands.

One hand ran itself down Blaine's spine, stroking gently at the curve at the base before pressing his cheeks apart, one finger sliding itself down the crevice again, and again, until Blaine was trembling against the wood.

Kurt held one hand flat at the base of his spine, and pressed his index finger gently into Blaine's hole, up to his first knuckle until Blaine whined faintly, and then the whole way.

Blaine hummed, shifting slightly against the intrusion, pressing down onto Kurt's hand.

"More," he growled.

Kurt's second finger slipped in slowly, stretching around the tightness as Blaine bore down against him. Kurt leaned forwards to press a kiss to the middle of Blaine's back, moving his fingers in and out slowly, _slowly._

Blaine gave a gasp that faded into a whimper, "_fuck, mo..re"_

"Patience is a virtue," Kurt said, lips moving against the skin of his back as a drop of sweat slid down Blaine's spine.

"_Come on, Kurt. Fuck me, already."_

Kurt didn't need telling twice.

He pulled the condom open with slippery, shaking fingers and it took him three tries to slide it entirely onto his length, and his legs nearly gave out when he set the back on the ground, grasping Blaine's hips to pull him down the table so his feet were on the floor between Kurt's.

Blaine's eyes flickered over his shoulder to meet Kurt's, and he gave a slight nod, his hands gripping the desk edge over his head.

Kurt pressed the head of his cock against Blaine's hole, his eyes falling closed and his breath stilted as he slid in, inch by inch, until he was buried completely and every millimetre of his body was pressed along the length of Blaine's back.

There was a cracked moan, although who it came from barely registered, and Kurt's hand grasped forwards to clasp Blaine's fingers, and they intertwined painfully around each other and the wood of the desk.

Kurt pulled his hips backwards as slow as he could, although who he was teasing by this point he wasn't sure, but Blaine was tight and hot around him and Kurt couldn't hold back any longer.

His hips snapped forwards, burying himself in Blaine at a jilted pace, but Blaine was thrusting back to meet him and the only sounds were ragged breaths and their skin slapping together and every thrust pressed Kurt's hipbones into Blaine's ass hard enough to bruise.

They met each other in a collision of skin and a gasp that was louder each time until each gasp was a moan of a name, and their skin was red raw from smacking against each other. Kurt's mouth was against the back of Blaine's neck, shouting into his hair, biting between his shoulder blades and every touch set his skin on fire.

"_Kurt, fuck K…u..urt!"_

Blaine pulled Kurt's hand to his mouth, his teeth pressing into the soft skin of Kurt's wrist and his cheek pressed against the wood of the desk. Kurt's eyes were blurring and he could barely breathe as his mind rushed towards the blinding white light of pressure coiling in his abdomen, exploding over his skin in a shower of flames and sparks and….

"_Fuck! Blaine! Blaine, Blaine…"_

And Kurt's voice faded into nonsensical whispers against Blaine's back, but he was still writhing and whimpering beneath him. Kurt's hand reached between the desk and Blaine, closing around his aching cock, and three hard jerks later and Blaine spilled over Kurt's hand and desk with a moan and a broken cry that might have been Kurt's name.

And then they were panting against the wood, and the air was cold enough to raise goose bumps on their skin so they pressed closer together, but the skin between them was hot and sticky and slick with sweat.

Kurt pulled out of Blaine, who gasped at the sudden movement, shifting on the desk, and Kurt ripped off the condom to throw in what he hoped was the general direction of the bin, but he couldn't be sure.

Blaine rolled onto his back, stretched gloriously across the desktop with a sleepy smile on his face, splattered across his chest with his own come.

Kurt lowered himself over him, pressing his tongue across the plains of Blaine's torso to lick him clean.

"What are you doing?"

"Avoid the obligatory awkward post-sex clean up," Kurt said, muffled against Blaine's chest which shook with laughter at his words, and he let Kurt suck the come from his skin, before catching his jaw and pulling him up to press their mouths together.

Kurt tasted like sweat and bitter and salty, and it was weirdly hot.

"So, Mr Hummel, am I allowed to come back to class tomorrow?"

Kurt paused, and Blaine drew back slightly, surveying the look on his face, "Is this the signal for the start of the moral _"oh my god I just fucked a student" _breakdown?"

Kurt shook his head, because, surprisingly, he wasn't freaking out. At all.

"I'm not freaking out," he said, "I probably should be. I could lose my job, we could have been seen, _anything._ But right now I feel far too good. Give me ten minutes."

"More like twenty," Blaine smiled into his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Even when Kurt awoke the next morning he hadn't freaked out. Not even when he thumbed over Blaine's name in his phone, when he pressed his fingers to the bite mark on his wrist and not even when Rachel mentioned how much more…relaxed he looked.<p>

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you got laid," she said, passing him his morning coffee. He just smiled vaguely, and waved over his shoulder as he left the flat.

So maybe he was a little nervous as he waited for the class to file in and sit down, and this was far to reminiscent of his first day to be any comfort, but with each passing minutes his heart was thudding harder and harder, until…

Blaine didn't show up.

Kurt tried not to be disappointed as the students wished him a good weekend, tried not to notice the half-moon shaped indents on the end of his desk that looked like they were let by nails gripping the table top.

But he couldn't help it.

He didn't know what he was expecting really, why his heart had sunk to the pit of his stomach. He was on tenterhooks all day anyway, waiting for someone to stand up and point a finger at him accusingly.

He jumped whenever he saw another member of staff, flushing whenever they looked his way as though they could read his mind, and it wasn't until lunch…

"What did you do to Anderson?"

Kurt jumped a foot in the air, spilling burning coffee over his hand and Armani shirt as Jesse spoke into his ear.

"What?" His voice was an octave higher than normal, "I…I didn't'…"

"The kid's dropped out!" Jesse continued, "We figured you got sick of his attitude and reported him or something!"

"No. I…he barely came to my lessons. He's _dropped out?"_

"Yeah," Mike appeared on Kurt's other side, "He'll still be able to audition for role, but he's not an official student here anymore." He shrugged, "I guess he got sick of it."

Kurt's mind buzzed through his afternoon grading of papers, and he couldn't concentrate hard enough to do anything other than give them all a B+ and be done with it.

Was it Kurt's fault?

Had Blaine just been playing him all along?

Oh god, what if Blaine thought Kurt had pressured him? What if he told people…

"_I want you to fuck me, Kurt Hummel."_

Okay, so maybe Kurt hadn't pressured him at all.

His thoughts followed him through the day and out into the deserter parking lot as Kurt made to leave, giving up his work load in favour of a guilt-filled weekend of worrying and wondering.

"Kurt!"

Kurt had almost walked straight past him, so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the main subject of them leaning casually against his motorbike a few feet away.

Blaine scratched the back of his head with one hand, smiling sheepishly, "Uh. Hey?"

Kurt moved forwards, swallowing to sooth his suddenly bone-dry throat.

"They said you'd dropped out."

"Yeah. I'm not an official student anymore."

"Why?"

"Well…it means you're not my teacher anymore, right?"

"…Blaine –"

"I was wondering if you wanted to go out tonight!" Blaine said in a rush, his face blazing scarlet. Kurt grinned.

"Mr Anderson, are you…_blushing?"_

"Shut up," he mumbled.

"You are! You're embarrassed!" Kurt crowed. "Wait…why are you embarrassed?"

Blaine rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, "Are you fucking stupid or something Hummel? I like you, okay! I thought you were just gorgeous and maybe fucking you would get it out of my system, but apparently I want to get to know you and go out with you as well. So…here I am. And I'm really hoping you kinda like me back, even though I'm a bit of a dick, otherwise I'll be really…"

"Blaine I risked my _career_ –"

"That's a bit dramatic, it's only community theatre."

" – Of course I kind of like you!" Kurt continued paying him no heed, "Even when you're being an absolute moron and I want to punch you in the face!"

There was a pause, and they grinned at each other.

"So…did you want to go out…like, tonight, Mr Hummel?"

"Mr Anderson, I would fucking love to."

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